


Tease

by pippen2112



Series: War Wounds [5]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Dirty Talk, Felix Being a Dick, M/M, Masturbation, Not Your Typical Soulmates Fic, Rough Sex, RvB spoilers for s12, Set between s11 and s12, Soulmarks, canon typical language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-03
Updated: 2017-03-03
Packaged: 2018-09-28 02:11:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10065734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pippen2112/pseuds/pippen2112
Summary: Felix gets some alone time and checks in with Locus after the skirmish at Crash Site Bravo.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This alternative universe hinges on soulmarks, names that appear on a person's body at various points in one's life. Some people have many names. Some have few. Some have none. It is commonly believed in the universe of this story that soulmarks are the names of your soulmate(s), but evidence is inconclusive.

**Tease**

Well, they're still alive.  That's better than the half dozen Feds who bought Locus's bullshit about overwhelming the enemy and bit the dust.  Between the reckless assault on Crash Site Bravo, a certain ex-Freelancer playing the martyr card, and dealing with the now splintered Reds and Blues tentatively sided with the New Republic, Felix is ready to collapse.  He's worn thin under his armor.  Really.  Felix isn't old by any means--he works a stressful job, that's the only reason his roots are growing in gray--but too much shit has gone down in too short a day.

In his cramped excuse for private quarters back at the New Republic's base, Felix sheds his armor like a snake sluffing off its skin.  He rolls his neck, becomes reacquainted with how his skin stretches across his muscles.  Too long in armor, and he forgets he's flesh and blood underneath.  Everyone does, he thinks, to some extent.  How else do you get nut jobs like Locus who think they're more machine than man?

Ah Locus.  The perpetual thorn in his side.  His partner.  Felix doesn't bother suppressing his tired grin.  Instead, he trails his fingers across his hip, drags his nails just for the flicker of sensation. 

Since his little run in with Agent Washington in the bowels of the crashed ship, his nerves have been thrumming insistently, seeking out someone solid and breathing to rut against.  Usually, due to close quarters and a healthy suspicion of strangers, that someone is Locus.  But neither of them like to mention that little codependence they share.  It tarnishes their respective self-images.

Then again, Chorus is a war zone, and Locus is busy turning the Feds into soulless killing machines, or trying to at least, so Felix makes do with what he gets.  He's adaptable like that.  Normally, he'll just charm his way into some impressionable soldier's bunk then hightail it before the endorphins wear off.  And that volleyball chick has been looking _fine_ , but tonight Felix doesn't have it in him to be the Merc with a Heart of Gold.  He doesn't wanna play any part but himself, and going out as the real Felix might be counterproductive given how much he still needs to accomplish with the New Republic.

No, regrettably, there's one person on all of Chorus who Felix can be himself around, and he's God knows where.  Half a world away.  Still doesn't hurt to check in.

Felix double checks that his door's locked and activates his white noise machine.  A few of his neighbors were suspicious of it at first, but after Felix brought a few screamers home, they wised up and stopped complaining.  Now if anyone asks, he says he can't sleep without it, and he's earned himself a few luxuries.  Truthfully, he keeps the white noise machine for days he has to check in with Control and can't sneak away from base.

Taking the portable comm link out of his helmet, Felix flops on his cot and wriggles into a comfortable position.  He prods the comm link to the direct frequency he and Locus share, pops it in his ear and clicks twice before he groans and starts jabbering.

"Uhhhh, is everybody dead yet?  I swear to God, I'm ready to snap.  The next time someone asks me if these "colorful space marines" are the answer to our prayers, I'm gonna shank a bitch."

He shifts his still healing leg and grimaces.  "And, seriously, did you have to aim for leftie?  I swear I'm gonna get arthritis from all these bullet holes."

Locus heaves a heavy sigh, the first sound he's betrayed over the comm link.  Good.  At least Felix didn't waste his breath on dead air.

_"That's not how arthritis works, Felix."_

Locus sounds like something's grabbed ahold of that stick up his ass and shoved it deeper out of spite.  Funny, usually that's Felix's job.

"Eh, tomato, tomahto.  Not like either of us'll live long enough for it to matter."  Felix reclines against his cot, using his arms as a pillow.  He actually had a proper pillow once upon a time, but he traded it to one of the rebels for a handie and a peak at the New Republic's servers.  Yeah, he wakes up most mornings with a neck cramp, but now he and Locus have uninterrupted access to every military movement on all of Chorus.  Priorities.  He's got his in order.  "How's it going with the evil empire?"

_"We've rounded up the remaining simulation troopers and their... questionable technology.  They are unharmed."_

A laugh startles out of Felix's chest, soaked in sarcasm.  "Well that's a crock and a half of bullshit if I've ever heard it.  We both know that if they were "unharmed," they'd be with their friends here at the New Republic, sitting around a campfire telling ghost stories and roasting marshmallows."  Though, to be fair, Felix hasn't seen much less tasted a damn marshmallow since his teens.  Do they even make those weird over-processed sugar blobs anymore?

The comm link hums in his ear, eerie and almost silent.  Locus doesn't even reprimand him for clogging up the channel with chatter.  What the hell?  Locus has been acting weird since Felix radioed him about the crash site.  Actually, weird is putting it mildly.  Locus is behaving like... Felix doesn't even know, and that's the problem.  Since when has the self-proclaimed killing machine hesitated in the field?

Felix shakes his head.  Something's got his partner by the balls; it's just a matter of poking and prodding to figure out what.  "Seriously," he says, "how bad is it?"

Locus sighs again, his voice turning the comm line to crinkled static.  Felix rolls his eyes, grinning.  That exasperated little sound is so ingrained in his skull, if he heard it postmortem, his corpse would probably beam. 

_"The red leader has a few cracked ribs.  The pink buffoon complains of a sprain."_

Ah, fuck.  That'll knock a couple hundred off their paychecks, but Felix can argue that loss onto Locus's cut of the profits.  Though, in the grand scheme of things, a couple hundred is pocket change given what Control is paying.  But still, Locus's list has one very conspicuous absence, and Felix's throat tenses.  "And the Freelancer?  Can't imagine him being all sunshine and rainbows."

"Agent Washington is still in surgery."

In three seconds, Felix's ears start ringing, so much so he second guesses what he heard.  But his heart pounds like he just ran a mile through enemy occupied territory.  For a split second, every image of gruesome battlefield wounds flashes through his mind.  Panic wells in his throat, and his mouth is too dry to swallow it away.

Felix squeezes his eyes shut and drags up his persona for just a moment to steady himself.  He breathes deep, holds it for three seconds, and exhales out all his tension.  He can think again, thank God.  Sometimes it's helpful being so practiced in the art of being someone else; mostly it just makes him ache to cut a bitch.  "To coin your catch phrase, that's unfortunate."

A rumble grates along the comm link.  Locus groaning.  Maybe growling.  Christ, he's like an animal being denied his favorite chew toy.  _"If you have nothing productive to offer, clear the line.  You know protocol."_

"Oh, I'm sorry.  Are you actually holding out hope that the big bad Freelancer makes a speedy recovery?

Locus's silence wouldn't be half as telling as his growled comeback.  _"Control gave orders."_

"Oh, come on.  You and I both know this gig is just a paycheck."  Felix runs a hand through his hair--Christ, he needs a haircut.  "This whole damn planet's our ticket to early retirement.  If Washington goes out in a skirmish or hangs on 'til the final onslaught, it makes no difference.  Either way, he's already got one foot in the grave."

Again, Locus doesn't respond, but Felix feels tension rippling through this silence.  His partner's holding out on him.  Holding back.  Chest tightening and heart thumping heavy against his ribs, Felix sits up on his cot and cranes forward.  Like it might unmask Locus's true motives.  "Unless."  Felix's brain is still putting the pieces together as he speaks.  "Unless, of course, that shriveled heart of yours is making things complicated.  You know, that raw little lump you pretend doesn't exist."

 _"It's not complicated!"_ Locus snaps, a little too vehemently.

Felix smirks.  He can practically hear Locus's posture tense upright, his cheeks flush, his blood pressure spike.  He's tempted to crack a joke about vascular-dilation meds, stress, or advancing age all taking a toll on Locus, but he holds himself in check.  For now.  "Uh huh.  Guess I'll give you that one.  It's really simple: you've always had a boner for the emotionally damaged."

_"Felix--"_

"I wouldn't waste your breath arguing this one, Locs.  Your track record reads like a registry for abuse survivors and the emotionally constipated."

_"I fucked you."_

Just mentioning it drags the memories to the forefront of Felix's mind.  It started years and years ago, back during the War, after a battle where they were too uncertain if they'd make it back to base and see tomorrow.  Felix remembers the sight of Locus stripping off his armor, his usual grace turned careless by exhaustion and fear, his eyes wide and wanting, his touch just the right side of rough.  Felix chuckles.  "To be fair, _I_ fucked _you._   Don't go mistaking who's dick made nice with who's hole.  And I admit, I'm hardly a paragon of mental health, but I know what I am and that keeps me sane.  I mean, you know what they say, like attracts like."

And, oh, he and Locus were cut from the same cloth even if their fortunes had turned them into very different men.  Leering through the blank walls, Felix palms himself, remembering the molten squeeze when Locus lost all composure under him, his cries breathy and insistent as he tugged at Felix's hair and came between them, untouched. 

"So, Washington, huh?"  Felix pauses, trailing his fingers down his neck, across his chest.  Just enough to spark his own arousal.  After all these years, he'd bet Locus can hear the changing tenor of his voice.  "I spent some time with him at the crash site.  Could tell you some stories."

And then, Felix clams his mouth shut despite the urge to keep talking and waits.  It's difficult, trying even, but when he hears that faint hitch in Locus's breathing, Felix grins.  _Got him._  "I could," he repeats, dangling the hook in the water for Locus to choke on.

_"Felix."_

"I could.  But I won't."

Locus practically growls.  _"Felix."_  So much venom wrapped around those two little syllables.  So much wrath.  Felix nearly cackles but holds himself in check.  It's more fun this way.

"I mean, why would I?  There's absolutely nothing in it for me."

The line goes quiet but not dead.  If he focuses, Felix can still hear Locus breathing a touch too quickly.  Can hear the gears clunking in his mind; Locus has always been a loud thinker.  Even with all his armor and an entire army to hide behind, Locus is remarkably easy to read, at least for Felix.  After all, Locus is still a man no matter what he pretends.  He still as wants and needs no matter how stringently he denies himself.  For the most part, Felix lets Locus maintain his illusions; otherwise, it's no fun to poke at Locus until said illusions crumble.

Lying back down, Felix teases his fingers along the waistband of his sweats, waking up every nerve south of the border.  The twitchy silence rings sweet in his ears, but not as sweet as he likes it.

"You could ask."

Again, Locus doesn't answer, but oh how he responds.  Heart pounding.  Jaw clenching.  Felix can practically see his partner's spine pulled taut, thrumming like a coiled spring and primed to snap.  Locus is so fucking easy, Felix beams.  Every now and again, a man needs his ego stroked, needs to be reminded he's king of something.  And Felix always keeps the scale tipped in his favor.

He goes on.  "You could ask, and I could tell you what Washy smells like, or how he trembles when you touch him, or what his eyes look like when he blushes."

Locus's breath hitches; the sound makes Felix smirk.  "Yeah, thought so.  You always were a sucker for that romantic crap."

_"Felix--"_

He chuckles gleefully.  How Locus has fooled anyone, Felix will never know.  Sure, Locus puts on that alpha wolf exterior, but with a few choice words, Felix can make him into a good little bitch in heat.  "It's all here," he says.  "Rattling away in my head, just itching for a reason to come out to play.  All you've gotta do is ask."

And after all these minutes of waiting and wanting, Locus lets out a whimper, high pitched and damning.  Fuck, that little noise takes him back to that time they fucked in the back of a Pelican when the rest of their unit didn't make it out alive.  He'd stripped Locus of just enough armor to get at his cock, his balls, his hole.  He'd teased Locus's pucker, barely breaching him as Locus made that same keening, wordless plea.

In less than a second, Felix is hard.  Even gets a head rush for his trouble.  Felix palms his erection and closes his eyes.  Fuck, he can just imagine Locus standing in some semi-secluded corner of the Fed's base, stock still as his fingertips go numb and his codpiece grows uncomfortably tight.  Can imagine Locus's dark cheeks flushing darker at his body's betrayal.  Can imagine whispering dirty promises into the shell of Locus's ear as Felix fucks him.

Before Felix can say another word, Locus clears his throat and growls, _"You're a menace."_

"True, but I'm your menace."

_"Goodnight, Felix."_

And the line goes dead.

Felix gapes up at the ceiling, speechless.  Locus hung up on him?  Yeah, it's a common enough occurrence, but today his cheeks burn and his pulse rings in his ears.  Locus doesn't get to just cut and run, not until Felix is done with him.

In one fluid motion, Felix shoves down his waistband and takes his cock in hand.  As he works himself, he lets his mind wander.  In his mind, Locus doesn't get a chance to hang up.  Instead, Felix grabs him from behind, stripping him of every inch of armor until Locus is bare and vulnerable.  In his mind, Felix bends Locus over the nearest flat surface, rakes his nails down Locus's dark shoulders and fucks into him with minimal prep.  Locus arches, groaning and moaning and crying.  Not so scary like this, stripped to his skin and speared on Felix's cock.  Holding Locus around his throat and hip, Felix fucks him deep.  In his mind, Felix leans forward, breathes in the scent of man on those blonde locks, and scrapes his teeth along the nape of his neck.  For good measure, he bites bruises over soulmarks and chases the tight hot grip of bliss.

One, two, three thrusts, and Felix spills against his stomach, but he keeps stroking until his legs jolt from oversensitivity.  God, he needed that.  It had been ages since his last alone time.

After he wipes up his mess on a stray piece of clothing and rights his sweatpants, Felix rolls onto his side and drifts toward sleep.  If at some point he realizes that Locus has neither blonde hair nor any soul marks as far as he's seen, that he knows only one person who does, well that's a problem for future Felix.  No use wasting sleep over your spank bank.


End file.
